


Wolf Dreams

by WomanOfWinterfell



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Cousin Incest, F/M, I don't, Incest, Internal Thoughts, but very much based on M rated incestual thoughts, diet incest, remember that tag about not acting desires?, self struggle
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-04
Updated: 2016-10-21
Packaged: 2018-01-07 09:52:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1118481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WomanOfWinterfell/pseuds/WomanOfWinterfell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jon's dreams kept getting worse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

He loved the hunt, the thrill of following her scent deep into the godswood. His blood pulsed for her, for her fight. There was no other like her, even when his other sister still lived she was nothing like her. She commanded, overpowered, and devoured.

 

Yet she would always bend to him in the end.

 

Deeper and deeper he ran into the trees, his desire for her growing with each footfall. Her scent drew him to her, pushed him to go faster. When he found her, he pounced. He grabbed at her throat and pulled her down with him.

 

She fought him, but it was all for show. Night after night they played this game, the hunt, and the capture; and she wanted the fight as much as he did.

 

He took her on the forest floor, and in the dark of that moonless night she filled his senses. Her scent, the feel of her, the sound of her pants and growls.

 

She was the wolf queen, and he was her master.

 

***

 

Jon awoke bathed in a cold sweat, a silent scream on his lips.

 

He threw off his furs, sending the soiled bedding across the room, and rose from his bed to wash himself. He wanted to clean away the evidence of his sweat and desire, to wash away his guilt; and yet even the night-chilled water was not enough.

 

He could still feel the wolf in his mind.

 

But the dreams were different, now. He could have withstood the bombardment of his memories, had they remained simple wolf dreams; and yet they never did. In the waking hours, the images still came, but reformed; the fiery she-wolf on the night replaced with her human counterpart.

 

Jon threw the bowl to the stone floor in a fit of anger, memories and dreams still clouding his mind. He decided to stroke the fire instead, watching it as the flames roared and grew to blazing flames, their heat brushing his skin. He resolved to not sleep again that night, prayed to the gods, old and new, he wouldn’t.

 

What he hated the most was the throbbing of not only his body, but also of his heart. The joy, contentment, love, and _lust_ he felt when his thoughts went to his sister who was now a woman.

 

 _Not sister,_ he told himself.

 

He threw another log into the fire with all his strength, cursing that deep part of himself for being so weak; watching as the coals and sparks flew into the air.

 

The fact she was his cousin by blood did not change the memories of her being a sister, Jon had told himself countless times. It did not change that as a babe her tears would stop when he held her, that her first word was his name, that he had been there for her first step, for her first prank on Sansa, that when she became sick all she wanted was for him to be at her side.

 

Yet things were different now. They had been children, siblings, when they left Winterfell. Now they were adults, hardened by the war and winter, and almost strangers to one another. When he looked upon Arya he did not see a young girl with mischievous eyes, wearing a fiery smile, and a dirt stained dress. Now his eyes went to the toned muscles that were beneath her tunic, to her beautiful gray eyes that shone like winter. Cold, hard, and dangerous.

 

It should have saddened him, to see Arya turned into this harsh woman, this woman of ice and fiery revenge; and yet sadness was the last thing he felt when he was in her presence.

 

Jon leaned back in his chair, looking up at the wood beams that held the ceiling above him, and sighed.

 

He felt like he had been doing a lot of that since these particular wolf dreams had started. Each sigh was an attempt to release the worry that filled him, but sighs did not change this fate. His feelings would remain the same, and his worry; not to mention the fact that Arya could very possibly be having the same wolf dreams as well.

 

He comforted himself remembering that not all sleep lead to wolf dreams, and that it was possible that Arya had never been within Nymeria when his dreams occurred. She certainly wasn’t acting any differently towards him, showing no hint that she’d been dreaming about him as he so often dreamt of her.

 

Jon was sure that as long as she didn’t know, he could keep it together. She would never have to know, and he could go on pretending that all he saw when he looked at her was his little sister.

 

He was Targaryen and Stark, but the ice in him almost always won out over the fire and it would again here as well.

 

Jon closed his eyes, relishing the feeling of the fire against his skin. He liked to imagine that the fire would make him pure, cleansing him, burning away his sins.

 

He did not hear the knocking on his door, not the creak of it opening.

 

He did hear, however, hear her familiar voice calling his name, her footsteps light on the stone.

 

Jon opened his eyes and turned towards her voice, staring as she walked closer to him, the light of the fire gently flickering on her form; dancing on her skin, her hair.

 

Jon wondered if perhaps he was more Targaryen then he realized.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She simply stared, her grey eyes unchanging in their clarity.

The crackling sound of fire seemed almost deafening in the silence that hung between them.

“What are you doing up, little sister?” Jon uttered, hoping she could not hear the rock in his throat.

She simply stared, her grey eyes unchanging in their clarity.

Arya began to approach, and he had to withhold his urge to gulp. After years spent with Ghost at his side, and nights spent through the eyes of a wolf, he knew what he was looking at.

She was a wolf, and she was stalking her prey.

As she stepped closer into the light cast by the fire, he noticed how the men’s tunic she wore turned transparent. The tunic seemed to fit her, loose against her lean frame and granting her ease of movement and silence as she walked.

She was only a few steps away from him when she finally spoke, “You’re not my brother.” 

“Arya.” He croaked.

“Nor my half-brother.” She was within arms length, now. He could have reached out and touched her. He could have stopped her from moving closer.

He did neither. 

“I am your cousin.” He wanted the words to be a wall, but they came out faltered, weak, and broken. 

Arya stood silent before him, light outlining her form through the dress. When she moved, his body tensed, readying itself against her touch. But surprisingly, she knelt down and sat at his feet, much as she used when she was a girl and he would tell her stories about her favorite warriors. She leaned against his knees and he felt the instinct to reach out and muss her hair. He clenched his hand instead. 

He knew the moment he touched her, here in this place, he would be crossing a boundary he would not return from. 

Jon felt more than heard her single laugh, and watched as her hand reach up to his, which was lying clenched on the arm of the chair. She took it and held it in her grasp. It was times like this, where without words Arya was able to read his emotions and thoughts. Then again, he could do the same thing.

She had done this before. In their childhood, she would play with his hand when he read her stories. There were times when it had been massively inconvenient, but he had never once removed his hand from hers and had simply learned how to turn a page with a single hand. She had done it again, the first night she had returned to Winterfell, with Walder Frey’s head in a bag by her side. They had stayed in the great hall late into the night. They had talked, but mostly there had been silence. They had sat side by side, Arya turning his hand in hers, over and over again. 

“Cousins marrying is not uncommon in Westeros.” 

“Yes, and that worked out well for Tywin and his children.”

Arya stopped her ministrations and lifted her head to look up at him, her eyes peering from below her lashes, “Our grandparents were cousins.” She countered, not letting go of his hand still. 

“And how many children died because of a Targaryen and a Stark?” His words came out with a sad laugh - laughing at the misfortune his parents had brought to Westeros as the price of his birth. 

Jon could tell by the stiffening of her form against his leg, before he even saw her face fall into a frown and glare, that his words had angered her. 

Abruptly, with a speed that reminded him that she had had a life across the Narrow Sea, Jon found himself pulled down by his arm. His knees hit the wooden floor with a thump and before he had time to gasp from the sudden pain, Arya grasped his face in her hands.

She was a whisper away, kneeling in front of him, his face pulled down to her own, and her knees positioned between his own. He looked into those grey eyes he knew so well. 

“You are not Rhaegar and I am not Lyanna,” she said, practically growling at him, “You are not stealing me away and I am not running away!” 

“Arya-” He began, but his words were stopped.

“No, Jon!” Her words were little more than a breath, but they rang with strength and frustration. “You can deny this all you want. You can shut me out with silence or with words, but it won’t last. I will return, either as Arya to you or as Nymeria to Ghost.” 

She still held his face, but her hands moved up, thumbs on his cheeks. Her other fingers reached up to his hair. “Jon,” She murmured, so softly that it sent a shiver down his spine, “I spent years trying to forget myself, my past, and the things I wanted most. I am done with not being myself.”

One moment Jon was looking into her eyes and the next her lips were on his. He didn’t know who moved first, and honestly, it didn’t matter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you Maya-lev for being my beta! And thank you to all the readers who had hope and subscribed!


End file.
